Icky Sicky Bilbo Baggins
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is used to his warm, comforting hobbit home in The Shire. So, trekking across the landscape, getting in fights with both the Orcs and the weather, it is completely possible for the out-of-his-element hobbit to fall ill... Sick!fic. Technically movie!verse, although could probably just be book!verse as well.
1. Prologue

**Icky Sicky Bilbo Baggins**

Bilbo shivered, rubbing his hands together over the fire.

The night was cold, he could see his breath when he breathed, and gooseflesh had sprung up on his arms and refused to leave.

He cupped his hands and blew on his fingers to warm them, his teeth dangerously close to chattering.

The rest of the Company had fallen asleep already, snoring loudly. Bilbo hadn't been able to sleep anyway, he was too cold, so he had returned to the fire and focussed on chasing away the chills.

To be completely honest, he hadn't felt completely well since they had continued on their trek after their escapade with the burning tree and the Pale Orc. He had been exhausted, not to mention scared to death for awhile, and his body was aching and protesting the terrible treatment it had received lately.

Bilbo let out a short, shaking breath. It formed a cloud of condensation and his shivering redoubled.

He'd thought it several times over already: this was no place for a hobbit.

But, as many times as he'd thought that, something had happened to make him think that, while it wasn't a place for a hobbit, this was his place.

Nevertheless, it was freezing cold, his fingers were numb, and he was starting to feel vaguely sick, and not just exhausted.

He pressed shaking fingers against his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

His shivering was starting to border on something like convulsions when Bilbo thought that he ought to find the extra blanket. He stood, almost immediately noting the difference between the air near the fire and the air near their sleeping lodgings. He quickly grabbed the tattered blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, tottering back to his seat next to the fire.

_You ought to get some sleep, Baggins_, he thought to himself, wincing delicately as he sat back down. His ribcage was aching; he was sure that he had multiple bruises from the earlier fight, but he hadn't wanted to deal with that yet. His head, however, was pounding as well, and he knew that wasn't from the attack. So, all in all, sleep would be beneficial.

However, as he had noticed before, when he desperately _wanted_ to sleep, he knew there was no chance.

* * *

**So, I'm not sure if anybody wants to read a Hobbit!sick!fic, but I write sick!fics all the time, and... _The Hobbit_ is my new [second] favourite thing, so I had to attempt something, even if it doesn't garner much attention. This will be a multi!chapter.**

**Your favourites, follows, and reviews would be _lovely_. Thank you! **


	2. The Hobbit: Unwell

**Chapter One:  
The Hobbit: Unwell**

Bilbo's blanket was suddenly wrenched away from him. He was met with a blast of cold air and he gasped involuntarily, fumbling for the warmth that had so suddenly been ripped away.

"Up you get, Bilbo."

Blinking, Bilbo realized that the faint glow of sunrise was peeking over the horizon. He groaned, curling up and reaching for the blanket that lay, now discarded, a few inches away.

"Just five more minutes..." he muttered thickly, pulling the blanket over his shoulder.

"Suit yourself."

There was the shuffling of footsteps and the clanking of bowls, amidst much talking and a fire crackling. Bilbo sorely wished that whoever had woken him up, hadn't.

He felt _horrible_.

He had fallen asleep after much staring at the fire, trying to get warm. When it had failed, he had put the fire out and returned to his 'bed', curling up in the blankets. It had taken awhile, but Bilbo had finally, _finally_, managed to fall asleep.

Despite the fact that he _had_ gotten some sleep, he felt like he'd been asleep for only fifteen minutes.

His head was still pounding, his throat was scratchy, and either the dwarfs were being louder than usual, or he was sensitive to noise. He had just woken up, but he was starting to shiver again and he clutched the blanket tighter.

Sometime, when the dwarves got too loud and Bilbo's head was pounding too harshly for him to relax at all, he coaxed his tired body into a sitting position.

"There's the hobbit!" Bofur boomed.

Bilbo flinched, clutching the blanket closer to his body.

"Wakey, wakey. We may have survived an amazing battle, but there are still many more to come."

"Great..." Bilbo rasped. He tried to clear his throat, to no avail, and stumbled to stand. He stumbled away from their party, keeping his blanket draped over his shoulders, to the small, clear lake accompanying their camping spot.

"Wake up, Bilbo..." he muttered to himself, crouching to splash water onto his face. He thought it might help him wake up a bit.

It did.

It, also, was so cold that he felt like he could vomit up his meagre dinner of soup from last night.

Trembling, he stared painstakingly at his reflection. It might have been his imagination, but he thought that he looked pale underneath the dust and dirt smeared on his face.

He sniffed and cupped his hands, dipping them into the water for a drink.

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo flinched, nearly propelling himself into the lake. He glanced over his shoulder at the form of Gandalf the Grey.

"Are you feeling quite well?"

Bilbo rubbed his nose with shaking hands, pulling the blanket impossibly closer. "I'm just tired."

Gandalf looked at him closely. Bilbo, shivering, looked away.

"Well... Thorin will most likely be setting our group into motion again. He's far too anxious for a man who was nearly killed."

"Right..." Bilbo muttered, for a lack of much else to say. The thought of continuing their journey- while necessary- made him want to curl up and fall asleep again.

Of course, with someone like Thorin Oakenshield as their leader and someone like Gandalf the Grey standing by his side, one didn't exactly get that luxury.

Bilbo sneezed.

When he looked back to Gandalf, the wizard was staring at him calmly, his eyebrows raised in questioning.

Bilbo shuffled his feet and repositioned the blanket. "So, er... Think I'll get breakfast before we set out," he said, pathetically, as an excuse to leave the wizened wizard's inquisitive gaze.

Breakfast, which was some kind of what the dwarves called a substitute for porridge, did nothing to settle Bilbo's stomach. In fact, from the moment that he joined the group of dwarves clustered around the fire, his stomach started to churn even worse.

Everyone was just packing up when he felt the nausea threatening to overtake him, and he stumbled away to have a bit of privacy as he vomited into some unfortunate bushes.

That was a 'no' on the _shall I eat lunch later today_ question.

"You alright?"

Feeling exhausted, both mentally and physically, Bilbo raised his eyes to the dwarf standing near him. Kili was rolling up one of the many blankets that had still managed to stay with them, watching him warily.

"Fine..." Bilbo gasped, straightening up. Pain curled into his stomach and he clenched his teeth against the gasp that threatened to elicit the feeling.

Kili stared at him for a moment before dipping his head in a slight nod. "Keep up your strength, Mr. Bilbo. There are many a tiresome day ahead of us."

"Sounds brilliant," Bilbo muttered. "You know me... lover of all things dangerous. Typical burglar," he joked weakly.

Kili only watched him for a moment longer before turning back for their group.

Bilbo, groaning under his breath, followed him to begin another day's adventure.

* * *

**So, WOW, for the support. THANKS so much! I wasn't sure if something like this would be interesting for this fandom, but it seems a few people are interested! Thank you for your comments and, please, keep up your thoughts!**

**I do not own _The Hobbit_.**


	3. The Hobbit: Unconscious

**Chapter Two:  
The Hobbit: Unconscious**

It was freezing. Absolutely freezing.

Bilbo wasn't sure how much colder he could be, when he couldn't feel his toes and his fingers were numb and his nose was running.

And it wasn't even _that_ cold.

"Bilbo?"

He rubbed his nose, looking towards Fili. The dwarf was watching him warily, his eyes assessing. It was no where close to the intensity that Gandalf could stare at him with, but it still made him uncomfortable.

Bilbo looked back ahead, focussing on not tripping over his own feet. "Yeah?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

Bilbo gave a slight shrug. Past was the sense of trying to fake normalcy; he could barely focus on keeping up with their party. The pounding in his head was relentless and really rather painful, and every so often, his vision blurred with a strong sense of vertigo.

He knew it was a minor miracle that he hadn't gotten sick again, or, at least, tripped over the rocky ground.

"Thorin!" Kili called.

Bilbo flinched from the shout, only noting the feeling of his stomach dropping out _after_ he realized who Kili had just called for.

"Oh, no, no, I'm fine, I mean, really," Bilbo hurriedly said, "don't worry about me." He waved a hand dismissively, stumbling slightly. He thought that this was it for standing, that he was going down and he was going to be terribly scratched and bruised from the rocky terrain. But something caught his arm and pulled him back.

"Pick up those hobbit feet!" Bombur said, slapping Bilbo on the back before continuing ahead.

Bilbo just tried not to stumble again as Thorin fell back to join Kili.

"What is it?"

"Bilbo's ill," Kili replied.

"No," Bilbo said loudly, ignoring the pain blooming in his throat. He also tried to ignore the sudden flush of warmth, starting at the very back of his neck and creeping towards his cheeks, but he knew he was blushing nonetheless. "I'm fine."

"You look very peaky," Thorin said. Bilbo was surprised when, seconds later, the dwarf's hand was placed against his forehead. "You're warm as well. You have a fever, Bilbo."

Bilbo leaned away. "It doesn't matter. It'll go away on its own."

"Not without rest," Thorin said, before raising his voice. "Dwarves!"

The rest of the Company faltered in their steps, looking back towards Thorin and, by default, Kili and Bilbo.

Bilbo swallowed nervously, trying to swallow back the nausea. He refused, _refused_, to be ill while a company of dwarves were watching him.

"We're going to have a rest. Find some shelter, build a fire!"

The dwarves immediately dispersed, following out the orders of their respected leader, although they were none-too-quiet on wondering exactly _why_ they were pausing on their journey.

"Really, this is senseless..." Bilbo murmured, shivering.

"You should have mentioned something earlier," Thorin said.

"I didn't want to hinder the journey..." Bilbo muttered, letting the pack he was carrying fall heavily to the ground.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Baggins, you are one of our brothers. The health of our brothers is of utmost importance."

Bilbo blinked slowly, looking up at Thorin. That was nice, the sentiment, coming from someone like Thorin. They hadn't exactly been on great terms, right from their meeting in Bag End, but being called one of Thorin's brothers was a wonderful compliment.

Bilbo was too tired to properly respond.

"There's a clear cave over here, Thorin!"

"Good," Thorin replied, picking up Bilbo's pack. "Come along, Bilbo. You need rest, if nothing else."

Bilbo muttered something unconstructive in reply, picking up his feet to follow. However, when he moved again, vertigo seized his body again and the world swayed dangerously. He stumbled, reaching out for something to grasp for support, anything, but there was nothing within reach.

His legs collapsed out from under him and he dropped painfully to the ground, groaning slightly. Blackness exploded across his vision, and he was vaguely aware of someone saying his name before the darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

**Short chapter is short, but more will be revealed in upcoming chapters. I should mention, this takes place right after the end of _The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey_, where Thorin and Bilbo seem to be on good terms. I haven't gotten to this point in the book... so I don't know where or even IF the 'I accept you' moment appears in the book.**

**Thank you all for the support and, by all means, keep it up!**

**Happy Christmas!**


	4. The Hobbit: Dreaming

**Chapter Three:  
The Hobbit: Dreaming**

It was raining.

Bilbo shivered, pushing his hair out of his face as he squinted into the hazy atmosphere.

He was lost.

Trying to find his way back to the Shire was a near impossibility when the rain was cascading down so harshly that he couldn't see a foot in front of his face, that it pelted against his skin and left little stinging sensations. He longed to be back in his cozy hobbit-hole, perhaps settling down with a nice second breakfast of eggs and some leftover seed-cake. He wished that there were blankets to pull over his trembling shoulders, something that would give him a little warmth in the cold grips of the rain that he was dealing with. He wanted his warm bed, wanted to curl up under the blankets and relax and catch some shut-eye.

He was, however, wandering through the rain.

He had no idea where he was.

Bilbo wrapped his arms around himself. His button-down cotton shirt and velvet green trousers were completely drenched, clinging to his body uncomfortably. His suspenders were digging uncomfortably into his skin and his hair was plastered back, draping into his eyes.

He was miserable. He couldn't recall being so miserable.

Bilbo shuffled forward. He couldn't find his way back to Hobbiton without looking for it, and standing in one place, in the rain, wasn't going to help him at all.

Water rushed up over his feet.

Bilbo blinked in surprise, immediately stepping away and seeking dry land. He didn't like water- not when it was dangerous and rushing- and much less standing in it when he was already freezing.

However, there was nowhere to step to. Everything was covered in water. There was no dry land to step onto, and Bilbo immediately began to panic. Everything was covered in water. It was fast-moving and freezing and quickly rushing over his ankles.

Gasping, he frantically looked around for something, anything, that could get him to dry land. A tree to climb, anything. But he couldn't see anything. It was just him and the rain and the rising water...

He was shaking now, not from the cold, but from panic, sheer panic as the water splashed to his knees.

"Help... somebody...!"

The fact that he was alone, utterly alone, and he knew it, terrified him.

The water was past his waist now and he struggled to wade through the water. To where, Bilbo? What are you going to do? It's a flood!

Bilbo was struggling for anything that could keep him afloat. A piece of floating driftwood, even, but there was only water, water, _water_...

He gasped as the icy cold water splashed against his neck, and gasped again as the current suddenly whisked him off his feet.

Bilbo gasped and screeched and yelled, and tried to paddle and swim and stay afloat, but the water pushed him down. He took in a lungful of water on accident before his head broke the surface. He coughed and choked and splashed about before he was underwater again. When he hit the surface again, he shrieked in terror-

Bilbo woke up with a shout.

He sat up quickly, clutching the blanket covering him close to his chest. A quick glance around him made him realize that he was tucked safely away in the back of a- dry- cave.

Asleep. He'd been asleep.

Bilbo let out a deep breath, shuddering. He was drenched completely in sweat and his stomach was churning as though he had been washed about in a flash flood. He rubbed sweat from his forehead and drew his fingers back through his hair, fumbling for the tumbler of water sitting near him. He took a long drink, relishing in the coolness against his dry mouth.

He took a deep breath, trying to control his rapid breathing. His chest was rising and falling rapidly from the remnants of the nightmare and he struggled to regain control of his adrenalin; everything was fine, asides from the fact that he felt very ill.

Body aching, he coaxed himself to lay down again, drawing his knees close. He was still shaking and he couldn't control that; it was a by-product of the fever.

How he longed to be home.

Bilbo didn't get sick often, but he recalled, vividly, the one time that he had come down with flu. It had been the most miserable time of his life. He'd spent three days deviating between sleeping, trying to eat, and vomiting. At his home, he had had his warm, comfortable bed. He had had blankets, he had had cool cloths, and he had had various medicinal remedies for the problem, one of which was peppermint tea (which he was missing dearly, due to his sore throat).

Here, he had a musty cave and a few tattered blankets, a rolled up towel for a pillow and a little bit of cold water.

How badly he wished for a proper cup of tea and a warm bed.

"Bilbo, I've brought you another blanket... oh, you're awake?"

"A bit..." Bilbo muttered, stretching his legs out again and making to sit up.

Gloin placed a hand on his shoulder. "No, you rest. Thorin has informed up that you've fallen victim to a fever. Fevers are nasty things, so I've brought you a blanket and Dori has prepared a few cool cloths. He offered the (slightly stained) cloths to Bilbo.

He took them hesitantly. "Thanks..." He pondered what was on the cloths before deciding that he simply didn't want to know, and placed one tentatively against his own forehead. It was cold, and it made him shiver, but it was a good way to combat a fever.

"Bofur and Bombur are looking to catch some fish and we'll roast those up and bring you some, as well."

Bilbo swallowed reflexively at the mention of food. He was definitely not hungry, which sickened him a little. A good hobbit never passed up a meal, but, then again, he wasn't a good hobbit; he was an ill one.

"Thanks," he repeated shakily, wanting to roll over onto his side again and curl up. With the cool cloth, it was impossible now. His stomach and head was aching and he wanted to go back to sleep, but it was impossible while being so uncomfortable.

"Is there anything else we can get you, Mister Baggins?" Gloin asked.

_A one-way ticket back to the Shire_, Bilbo thought to himself, but he didn't say that out loud. Even though he often thought of the Shire, he just as often thought about how the dwarves didn't have a home. They didn't have anything to look forward to, to going back home to. And Bilbo had decided that he would help them, as he had told Thorin, to take back their home if they could. So they could have some place to belong... Some place to long for.

"Maybe some more water?" Bilbo said instead, nudging the half empty goblet sitting near his makeshift bed.

"Right away, Mister Baggins!" Gloin replied, picking up the goblet and hustling away.

Bilbo sighed with an overpowering shiver.

* * *

**I have no idea if hobbits can swim or not. _Lord of the Rings_, the movie version, made it seem like hobbits couldn't swim. I know that there is a specific type of hobbit that works well with water, but I have no idea about Bilbo. Nonetheless... **

**Thank you for the support, as ever! I'm very pleased to see that this has a bit of popularity. I try to stay in character as much as I can, although I can't say that I know much about the personalities of all the dwarves yet...**


	5. The Hobbit: Test Subject

**Chapter Four:  
The Hobbit: Test Subject**

"Have a bit of this," Oin said, offering Bilbo a flask.

Bilbo sniffed it gingerly- for he hadn't lost his sense of smell, yet- quickly finding that it was not ale nor any other drink that he knew. He realized, very quickly, that he rather wished that he _had_ lost his sense of smell.

"What is it?" he asked weakly, holding the flask away.

"Concotion of herbs. Used to make it for the lads in Dale when one came down with a illness. It would clear anything up."

"Er..."

"It's safe, laddy. Trust me."

Bilbo swallowed, casting a glance from Oin to the flask. Not wishing to be inhospitable, he hesitantly raised it to his lips.

The moment the mixture touched his lips, he knew there was something very wrong about it, herbs or not. It tasted worse than the worst spoiled sausage, and he immediately spit it back out.

"What-" he gasped, blinking away tears, "what was _that_-"

"You have a weak stomach," Oin commented. "It's not useful in these trying times."

"That's- that's _something_," Bilbo spluttered weakly, rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth. "What's in it?"

"Boiled down grass, willow bark, wildflower-"

Bilbo shook his head weakly. "Water. Just water... I'm fine..."

* * *

"We cooked you fish soup!" Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur announced as they crowded into the cave.

Bilbo shuffled the blanket closer.

He'd been attempting to sleep and finding the attempt rather poor, even though the sun was now setting. He was sore and achy, probably in partial thanks to their fighting, and everytime he tried to curl up in the blankets, a new ache would arise. Not to mention that every time he closed his eyes, the darkness beneath his eyelids started to spin sickeningly.

Bilbo shuffled the blanket closer, ducking his head against their loud voices.

"I'm not really hungry..." he muttered.

He appreciated their sentiment, he really did. It was just that he would rather fight the fever on his own, without any distractions or interruptions, or even _food_, for goodness sake.

The three dwarves looked at him with three similar looks of bewilderment. They all looked at each other. Bombur shrugged.

"Fine. I'll eat his share."

"No," interrupted Bofur. "Bilbo, you must keep up your strength. A healthy meal will do more good than harm."

Bilbo was tempted to argue the point, but the thought of arguing exhausted him. So, instead, he simply said "Okay, put it there, thanks," as he nodded to a clear spot in front of him.

* * *

Nori and Dori were the next two dwarves to bother Bilbo. They were slightly more considerate than everyone else had been (even though everyone was trying to help), but Bilbo could hear them shuffling slightly everytime he was just about to fall asleep.

So, finally, in irritation, Bilbo propped himself up and glanced towards the two dwarves.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked, shivering slightly.

"We are at your service, Burglar Baggins, if you need anything at all."

"Ah..." Bilbo muttered in reply. He laid back down, pulling the blanket over his head.

* * *

"Bilbo!"

Bilbo awoke, startled. He sat up quickly, feeling the world rush around him violently. He clapped a hand to his mouth and struggled to untangle himself from his caccoon of blankets.

There were suddenly hands under his arms and he nearly squeaked in surprise (although opening his mouth would have meant projectile vomiting, so he kept it closed). Moments later, however, he was deposited on his feet, outside his cave, and he collapsed to his knees while he was violently sick.

"He's very pale."

"You'd be pale, too, if you were upchucking dinner."

"Should we get him a cloth?"

"What for?"

"He's sweaty."

"So? Sweat doesn't kill anybody."

"But he's sick."

"Of course he's sick; he's not vomiting for the fun of it."

"Oin tried to give him some stuff, didn't he? His vomit's all green. I knew those herbs were good for nothing-"

Bilbo snapped his eyes open (he had squeezed them shut as to not watch his own vomiting display). "I'm fine on my own!" he said loudly, although his voice shook, and he really needed a drink of water. Really, he just wanted them (Kili and Fili, by the sounds of it) to leave him alone. He was already mortified, much less did he want them to stand by, analyzing his vomit.

There was a pause, in which Bilbo tried determinedly not to be ill again, before they responded.

"Let us know if you need anything."

"We'll be with the others if needed."

Bilbo snaked his arms around his stomach, groaning under his breath.

* * *

Bilbo had managed to stumble his way back to his bed, get a few sips of water back into his exhausted body, and catch a few (seconds? minutes? hours?) of sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, it was completely dark. It was cold, and he dreaded the next thought that entered in his head; he was going to need to step out for a moment. The idea made him want to curl up and fall back asleep, but one couldn't try to remain hydrated without the impending consequences.

He had just coaxed himself into a proper sitting position when he heard movement behind him. He inhaled with a quiet gasp, trying to scramble up, or at least, for his abandoned sword nearby, when a voice spoke.

"I did not mean to frighten you, little hobbit."

Bilbo let out a shaking breath as he recognized Thorin's voice. He couldn't see the dwarf in the darkness of the cave, but his voice was somewhere on the left.

"How are you feeling?" Thorin asked.

"Well, the adrenalin's really rushing now..." he muttered, pressing his hand against his chest. The rapid heartbeat under his fingers gave way to the fear that had spiked moments before.

Thorin grunted in reply.

Bilbo struggled to his feet, draping one of the blankets around his shoulders. "Not great... but we can't stay here because I feel down," he muttered, pulling the blanket closer. "I appreciate this and all, but I hate to think that I'm holding you back... It seems like I always do."

He didn't know what had compelled him to say that. He didn't think about it before he said it, and the words just fell off his tongue. He was met with silence and his cheeks heated. He blamed the inane chatter on his fever and he stumbled for the mouth of the cave.

"You are not a hindrance, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo glanced towards the darkness, the direction where he thought Thorin was, in surprise.

"Inconvenient as it may be," Thorin continued, and that sounded more like the Thorin that Bilbo had met not long ago in Hobbiton, "we will stay as long as necessary."

Bilbo was tongue-tied, and still red in the face. He didn't know what to say or do, so he simply decided on saying and doing nothing. He nodded slightly, although Thorin couldn't see him, feeling slightly, if only slightly, better than he had moments before.

* * *

**Because I feel like if the dwarves had a sick hobbit on their hands, they would have no idea what to do. =p Lighthearted chapter, as it is.**


	6. The Hobbit: Deteriorating

**Chapter Five:  
The Hobbit: Deteriorating**

Bilbo blinked his eyes open.

It was bright in the cave. That had to mean that it was daytime again. No one had woken him up...?

_Good, then. Go back to sleep_, whispered a voice in his mind. He was sorely tempted to obey that voice, but he had told Thorin that he would be okay to leave in the morning, without so many words. He needed to get up, he needed to get presentable (aka, lose the blankets and pack up his bedding), and they needed to be on their journey.

He tried to sit up. The movement was met with overwhelming exhaustion and pain. Nausea swelled up like a great flower, blooming in his stomach, and he clamped his teeth together with a groan to stop from vomiting.

The world was spinning, one cave wall was melting into the other, and the topsy-turvy notion did nothing to help his nausea.

He pressed his hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes closed. This would go away, he would be fine, they had to travel, but the fever- no, journey!

Bilbo wrenched his hand away from his mouth, hunching over to splutter and gag and retch. There was, thankfully, nothing in his stomach, but the dry heaves sent pain shooting up his body. The more pain there was, the more nausea there was, and he barely had time to catch his breath in between retching.

His eyes stung and there were tears forming rivulets down his cheeks. Tears, and sweat, as well, which was matting his hair to his forehead and clinging his shirt to his back.

He pressed his hand against the rocky cave floor, trying to prop himself up. He felt weak and defenseless; he hated the feeling, considering the journey. His arm shook as he tried to give himself a crutch to lean on and he bit his tongue against the whimper that wanted to escape.

He was really, really sick.

When he had had the flu, it had been miserable. It had been a lot of running back and forth to the bathroom, or perhaps just clinging to the rubbish bin like it was a lifeline. _That_ had been miserable, but _this_ was...

_... bad_, said the voice in his head. He was trying not to think about it, but his mind was filling in the blanks.

He remembered reading, once, how high fevers could cause your brain to turn to fried mush (or something similiar) or how one could die from untreated infection. Is that what he had? An infection? Or was it just a fever from the different element he was in? All the walking through the rain, all the fighting, not eating enough and not sleeping enough and-

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo opened his eyes, although he didn't look up from the ground. He had no idea who was in the cave with him now- he couldn't even decipher the voice, he felt too sick- and part of him simply didn't care. Part of him was glad that someone was there and the other part wanted that person to go away.

"Baggins," the voice said again.

It was much closer this time, and it hurt Bilbo's ears. He closed his eyes again, trying to regulate his breathing. He was shaking and he felt overheated at the same time, and the same idea of his brain frying kept bothering him, because he _felt_ way too hot despite shivering.

Bilbo felt his hair being raked out of his forehead and there was the pressure of a cool hand placed there a moment later. It disappeared much too quickly and Bilbo slumped slightly, drawing in a deep breath.

Footsteps crunched away.

"Thorin!" called the voice of whichever dwarf it had been, the voice further away now. There was what seemed to be a faint tinge of worry, and a very lot of demand in the call for their leader, but Bilbo couldn't focus on that.

_Lay down!_ the voice was ordering. He wanted to, very badly, to lay down and rest and fall back asleep on this nightmare, but he was afraid to move. His arm was still shaking, but the rest of his body felt like jam. He thought that if he tried to move, he might utterly collapse, and he dreaded the thought.

_Do something!_

But what? He was helpless, completely helpless, and he felt... he felt so... so...

"Bilbo?"

* * *

**Happy New Year, Hobbit fandom! =p It's a short chapter, but, bit obviously why. Thanks!**


	7. The Hobbit: Aided in Battle

**Chapter Six:  
The Hobbit: Aided in Battle**

Something was tickling his face.

Bilbo desperately wanted it to go away. He raised a hand to swat at the tickling sensation, groaning slightly. His fingers touched something cold and wet, and it took him a few, long, seconds to realize that it seemed to be water.

"Bilbo? Are you with us?"

He groaned in response.

He was too tired to try opening his eyes and he soon drifted back into unconsciousness without a word.

* * *

Bilbo shivered as something brushed over his skin. It wasn't cold and it wasn't wet, so it wasn't water.

Faced with yet another mystery, the tired hobbit pried his eyes open.

"Kili, we'll need some more water."

"Right."

"Oin, do we still have some of those mint leaves?"

"Yes."

"Smash them. We'll need some more."

"Right away."

Bilbo shivered again as he struggled to get a grip on his surroundings. He realized, sleepily, that he wasn't wearing a shirt and he wondered, vaguely, where it had gotten to... but he couldn't focus on it. He could barely keep his eyes open.

"Where's Gandalf? It seems like the barmy wizard always is absent in moments of crisis."

"Perhaps he foresees the crisis and chooses not to be part of it."

"That's just great, i'nnit? We have a wizard, one that vanishes every so often and doesn't want to use magic. He could have magicked us up some hobbit medicine, and we could have been halfway to the Misty Mountains by now."

Bilbo blinked slowly, trying to focus on one person or the other, to find the dwarves and find whose voice belonged to who. He couldn't see much, asides from the cave wall and a bit of blanket.

"Quiet," growled a voice, much closer.

Suddenly, he became aware of water dripping onto his chest. He inhaled with a quiet gasp- it was cold, so cold, too cold- trying to struggle away. He was too weak, however, and the little fact that he couldn't even figure out how to move his arms or legs didn't help.

"Bilbo?"

Someone was voicing his name, and not the person closest to him, but someone. Bilbo couldn't figure out who it was.

He blinked quietly.

"He's not entirely with us yet," said the voice closest.

"Here's more of the mint oil," said another voice.

Bilbo let his eyes close again. There didn't seem to be much for him to do, and everyone was carrying on loudly and making his head hurt...

There was pressure against his forehead again, briefly, before the pressure moved to his cheeks. His nostrils were filled with the comforting scent of peppermint and he let himself drift back to sleep on that note.

* * *

"He's been sleeping for hours."

"He's dangerously ill. His body needs the rest."

"He's going to be okay, though?"

"Rest easy. His fever doesn't seem to be getting worse."

"Thanks be for that."

Several different voices having a conversation brought Bilbo back to consciousness. He desperately wanted to tell them to be quiet, he wanted to sleep, but his mouth was dry and his lips were cracked.

With much effort, he drew the blanket over his head.

Not seconds later, it was ripped away.

Bilbo struggled to open his eyes, his glare diminishing when he found Thorin crouched next to him.

"Thorin..." he murmured weakly, licking his lips. His voice was hoarse and talking hurt his throat.

"Is he conscious this time?" asked one of the voices.

There was a grunt of what may have been affirmation.

"Drink," was the order directed at him.

Someone (maybe Thorin) had slipped their hand under Bilbo's back, propping him up slightly. With much work, Bilbo managed to take a few gulps of the water that he was being offered before he overshot his tolerance and ended up with a spectacular coughing display.

When he finally stopped coughing, his chest felt like it had been walked on by a Warg, his throat was burning like fire was tearing through it, his ribs were aching, his stomach was churning, and his head was pounding like a thousand Orcs marching to battle.

He was lowered back into a laying-down position when he was finished coughing. He immediately turned onto his side and painstakingly drew his knees to his chest.

Oh, how he missed the Shire.

Bilbo closed his eyes and, in the safe, quiet, calm, and peaceful part of his mind, envisioned that he was in Hobbiton, safely tucked away in his own, warm bed.

* * *

**For those people who ship Bagginshield (which I do _not_, because I do _not_ understand it [no offense to those who ship it; just not my cuppa]), yes, Thorin was taking care of Bilbo. Of course, it took Bilbo being this ill for Thorin to actually decide to help, but it's the thought that counts! =p**

**Your thoughts are appreciated. Thank you! **


	8. The Hobbit: Thinking

**Chapter Seven:  
The Hobbit: Thinking**

Bilbo was somewhere extremely warm and very cozy, and, for a moment, he thought that he was snug in his bed. He yawned widely, curling up a bit.

Something tickled his nose and he opened his eyes immediately, the fur of an animal pelt meeting his gaze. Bilbo blinked in surprise, raising his head slightly. A dried cloth fell off his forehead. He glanced at it briefly before shoving it aside.

He was missing his shirt, but he was surrounded by a pile of animal pelts and blankets that hadn't been there before. It wasn't his hobbit bed, but they _were_ warm...

He laid his head down again and pulled the blankets closer. He was shivering and there was gooseflesh covering his skin, but the warmth of the pelts and the blankets was inviting.

Bilbo dozed slightly, weaving in and out of consciousness pleasantly, for some time before he actually felt the need to draw himself from his newly-found warmth.

When he did, he sat up carefully. He was pleased that there seemed to be no terrible pain that came with the movement and he sighed in relief. It was hazy, but he seemed to remember a few snippets of being half-unconscious and feeling very, very ill. Thankfully, the illness seemed to be slightly better, even if he could still tell that was unwell.

He pushed the blankets off of himself and stretched. There was the pain that had been present earlier. Bilbo hesitantly got to his feet. The world was slightly unsteady and there were a few black spots at the edge of his vision, but he was overall pleased with his state of health. He was pleased with it, compared to what it had been. (Or had that all been a dream?)

Bilbo found a tall thermos of water set aside and he poured himself a large glass. The water was cool, and while he shivered slightly, it was refreshing.

He slowly walked to the mouth, peering outside. It was dark out- not that he hadn't guessed that from the lack of brightness in the cave, and he didn't mind- and everything was silent. He figured that the rest of the Company was asleep.

After a short walk (partially for a change of scenery), Bilbo stumbled back to his lodgings. The walk had exhausted him; he was still clearly sick and admittingly weak. He returned to his bed of animal pelts and was just about to lie down again when he noticed his shirt nearby. Seeing no harm in redressing himself, he quickly shrugged the fabric on. He opted to ignore the suspenders and vest for now, and settled back into his bed.

However, after so much sleep during the past (twenty? thirty?) hours, Bilbo found that, exhausted as he was, he simply couldn't nod off.

At the Shire, when he couldn't sleep, he'd fix himself a spot of warm milk, grab a couple of biscuits, and settle in with his pipe and a book to page through until his was tired.

Here, however, he had none of those luxuries. And the Tookish part of his mind was saying that that was just fine, as long as he had an adventure to keep him busy.

Bilbo stared at the top of the cave.

Not long ago, he would have detested this sort of lifestyle. Living on the run, eating when they could, and sleeping when they needed. It was the life of some... something, not a well-respected hobbit. But now, he couldn't imagine being at home (although he constantly imagined home in and of itself) when there was this adventure to be had. Even though he constantly imagined how nice it would be to be home and having second breakfast and tea-time and sleeping in a warm bed and being able to read the mail or have guests over... there was something spectacular in itself about this journey, and that was why he had decided, definitely, that he was going to continue the adventure.

He blamed the Tooks.

Of course, when he returned to the Shire, the residents of Hobbiton were probably not going to be too entirely pleased with him for his adventure. But, what could he say? He had lived all of life by the book, and there had arrived the chance for a change, and he had taken it (albeit a little unwillingly). And it was... not exactly fun and not exactly pleasant, but it was what it was, and it was Bilbo's adventure.

Bilbo frowned when he realized that all of his thoughts seemed to be leaning a little bit too far towards downright insane.

Well, he'd just have to see what he thought when the journey was over.

Which would be not for a long time, if he didn't get some rest.

Bilbo closed his eyes again, counting smoke rings floating across a plain in his mind.

* * *

**Because I can only make the dwarves taking care of him interesting for so long, here's a contemplative little hobbit chapter.**

**Reviews are appreciated, as ever. Thanks!**


	9. The Hobbit: Hungry

**Chapter Eight:  
The Hobbit: Hungry**

When Bilbo awoke, he was made perfectly aware of the fact that his fever had broken. He could tell this by the fact that he felt much better, plus the disgusting example that he was drenched with sweat.

He found the thermos of water and poured himself another glass, gulping it down thirstily. He felt sweaty and disgusting, but he felt almost like his normal self as he peeled his shirt off. He quickly found another (crisper) shirt and, after using his towel-pillow to wipe away sweat, he quickly put it on. He found another pair of knickers and his suspenders.

_You really ought not to be overworking yourself yet, Bilbo_, whispered a little part of his mind. He promptly told it to shut up; he could at least get dressed, thank you very much.

Bilbo tried to run his fingers through his matted, unkept hair, wondering briefly if there may be a lake nearby where he could wash. He shrugged at the thought and once again poured himself more water. It was cool and refreshing; he had never been so thankful for water.

His stomach, while thankful for the water, growled loudly in the silence. He frowned and shushed it and, wondering if the dwarves had cooked up any breakfast that wouldn't make him nauseous again, tottered towards the great outdoors.

A few of the dwarves, Thorin included, were nearby a fire, talking and eating and drinking. Bilbo's stomach growled again at the smell of food and the hesitant hobbit joined them silently.

"Bilbo!" Dori said, getting to his feet. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Yeah, much better now, thanks." He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. "Is there anything to eat? I'm a bit peckish..."

There was, as it turned out, a bit of porridge and a spot of tea and some rather broken biscuits. Bilbo took all of this without complaining, although the porridge was watery, the tea was weak, and the biscuits were crumbling. He was much too hungry to complain, although he was seriously missing a warm second breakfast right about now.

"It's good to see the young hobbit with an appetite," Bombur said, slurping noisily what Bilbo assumed was also porridge. (Bilbo also didn't bother to point out that he wasn't particularly young, being actually quite middle-aged.) "You had us mighty worried when you were not eating."

"I had myself worried," Bilbo replied, picking up another biscuit and having it break to pieces. "And, uh, thanks," he said awkwardly, trying to look at them although his eyes seemed to avoid meeting their gaze on their own accord, "for... for that. Helping, I mean." He cleared his throat before dipping his piece of biscuit into his tea.

There was a bit of an awkward pause before Thorin grunted in reply, getting to his feet.

"We shall be on our journey again."

"Bilbo needs another day of rest," Dori said.

Bilbo glanced up, looking between Dori and Thorin. "Uh, no. No, I'm- it's good."

"Oin mentioned that before," Dori continued, not looking up from his breakfast. "Unless we want the hobbit to relapse, it is unwise to test his limits."

Bilbo, resisting the urge to voice his annoyance at the fact that the dwarves spoke like he was not there, cleared his throat again. "Really, I feel fine."

"Unlikely," said a voice, footsteps announcing the arrival of more dwaves. When Bilbo looked up, he saw the figures of Gloin and Oin joining their breakfast party. "Your fever has just broken. You need at least a day of rest to recover your strength," Oin continued. "As self-appointed healer of the Company, I demand of it." With his demanding tone diminishing as Oin looked at Thorin, he said "It may seem a waste of hours at the moment, but better to let him recover than have him relapse with a stronger illness".

Bilbo, realizing that he had no say in this even though it involved his own health, gloomily stirred his tea with another piece of biscuit.

"... Fine," Thorin said shortly. "Makes sure he gets proper rest. We are behind schedule as it is." Footsteps walking away announced the leader of the Company was finished with breakfast, not to mention the conversation.

Oin settled down in Thorin's recently vacated spot. "Don't let him bother you, laddy. He's been anxious since our Company joined together. Best to get your strength up now. Have another bowl of porridge if you can manage."

Being able to manage six meals a day, Bilbo managed a second bowl of porridge just fine, although he denied the offer for more tea. He had been so overheated with the fever that cool water was refreshing to drink.

He was quite content when breakfast was over, and was just about to return to his cave when Gloin pointed out there was a spring nearby if he wanted to wash up. Sorely tempted to just go curl back up with his full tummy and have a nice snooze, Bilbo stood and stretched and made way for the spring.

The spring was calm and quiet and only about two foot deep at the edge, Bilbo saw, which put his mind at ease. Bathing was a thing that had become quite irregular on their journey, although diving into a lake was never an opportunity for him.

He tested the water warily, finding that it wasn't _too_ cold. He splashed water onto his face, shivering a bit even though the cool was refreshing. He rinsed his hair out a bit, trying unsuccessfully to untangle the mess it had become. He gave up on untangling it and focussed on washing up a bit instead.

He finished his 'bath' soon enough and dried off, feeling rather refreshed. He had replaced his knickers and was reaching for his shirt when a voice spoke and startled him.

"How are you feeling, Bilbo?"

Bilbo wrenched his shirt close to his chest, whirling on whomever had spoken. It was Gandalf.

"Gandalf..." Bilbo murmured, sighing quietly. "Where have you been?" he asked, flushing slightly as he fumbled to put his shirt on. (He would not get used to this lack of privacy lark, he just wouldn't.)

"Looking ahead," Gandalf replied. "We are running low on foodstuffs, thanks to the latest complications..."

Bilbo wasn't sure if 'complication' meant his sickness, or the recent trouble with the goblins and the Wargs.

"And, did you find any foodstuffs?" Bilbo asked, snapping on his suspenders again.

"No," Gandalf replied absently. "But I have no doubt that we will run along something soon."

"Ah." Bilbo fumbled with his suspenders for a moment longer before shifting his weight. "Well."

Gandalf turned with a flourish, starting back towards their campfire. Bilbo, not for the first time, wondered what the wizard was keeping secret as he started back towards the cave.

"Oh, and Bilbo?"

Bilbo glanced over his shoulder at the wizard.

"It is good to see you looking well."

Bilbo blinked and watched the wizard stroll away.

* * *

**A hungry hobbit is a healthy hobbit.**

**(One more chapter and then a short (comedy-ish) epilogue, for those who are wondering.)**

**Thanks!**


	10. The Hobbit: Bored

**Chapter Nine:  
The Hobbit: Bored**

As it were, there wasn't much for a recovering hobbit to do in the middle of the wild. He retreated back to his cave and the blankets for warmth, but there was nothing to do.

He stared at the cave wall for awhile, his eyes assessing each nook and cranny. They were boring and unchanging and Bilbo soon grew tired of looking at the cave wall.

He watched the shadows towards the mouth of the cave growing longer as the day stretched on. The dwarves didn't visit him and he had to go fetch his own supper. Apparently, since he was walking and talking on his own now, the dwarves no longer felt the need to check up on him.

His mind strayed back to Gandalf. The wizard had clearly seen him looking uncomfortably ill the day before his fever became pronounced. The wizard clearly knew that Bilbo had been sick, given that remark by the lake. But Bilbo didn't recall Gandalf being there while he had been ill... not that he could recall much from the time that he'd started feeling really ill. The wizard seemed to be there one moment, gone in the next, and Bilbo wondered just where the disappearing wizard vanished off to on those random occassions.

As Bilbo watched the shadows growing longer, nibbling absently on some slow-roasted rabbit, his mind once again strayed to the Shire. He missed his home dearly. He missed his mealtimes dearly; how he longed for something that was not caught and roasted over a fire. (He didn't care for rabbit- cooked rabbit, that was.)

He knew this wasn't the first time that he would think that and it certainly wouldn't be the last. At least, he reckoned, he had fond memories of his home.

He took a sip of ale, leaning back against the wall. It was a bit chilly now, as it was dusk, and he was nearly positive that this wasn't a by-product of his illness. It was nearly night-time; it got cooler towards night-time. So, he felt completely justified in drawing the blankets close and snuggling into the warmth that they produced.

* * *

"Let's get a move on."

"Yeah, yeah," Bilbo muttered under his breath, rubbing his nose.

Thorin was eager to return to their journey since they had been staying in one place for what he thought was far too long. Bilbo shared the sentiment only a bit; he was still a bit achy and his nose was running without pause. Every so often, he sneezed, too, and it was a bit miserable. But, it was much better compared to the fever that he had been ill with.

That being said, boredom didn't sit well with the little hobbit now that he was used to adventuring. (Oh, if the residents of Bag End could see him now...)

"Feeling better, then?" Balin asked, falling in line next to Bilbo.

"Better than I did, yes, much better," Bilbo said, rubbing his nose again.

"Good to hear."

Bilbo sniffed. "Yes, yes it is."

"Although Thorin's going to be annoyed by your sniveling..." Balin joked, as Thorin stomped by. "But pay him no mind!" Balin laughed and carried on, following Thorin.

Bilbo was left alone, with his slight headache and his running nose, for awhile. He was content to walk in silence, broken by his occasional sniff, and he was happy to not have a dwarf fussing over him again. He appreciated their sentiment; but he was really just a suffer-in-silence type (if he could help it).

"How were the dwarves, then?" Gandalf asked, at one point, when the wizard fell back to walk with the hobbit.

Bilbo looked up at the tall wizard quizzically. "Excuse me?"

"Is their bedside manner up to snuff?"

"Oh." Of course Gandalf would know entirely about what had transpired in his- unexpected- absence. The dwarves probably hadn't even told him the details. "Er... well, they were... they were..."

"Not helpful?" Gandalf supplied, his voice sounding amused.

"Well, no, they did help," Bilbo said truthfully. "I just don't think they're used to taking care of an ill hobbit..."

"I highly doubt it. They probably aren't used to taking care of an ill dwarf, to be honest. Relisiant creatures."

"I can see that," Bilbo murmured, rubbing his nose again. Oh, how he wished he had his handkerchief!

"More rest would do you good, little hobbit."

"Probably... but I agree with Thorin..." Bilbo muttered. "We need to get this journey finished..."

"Hm." Gandalf looked ahead. "The hardships are yet to come."

Bilbo looked back at Gandalf. "Do you think?"

"You have yet to experience the Forest of Mirkwood."

Illogically, Bilbo shivered. (Maybe he still had a bit of a fever...)

"But, at least your little cold is out of the way," Gandalf continued, "and the dwarves and you have a stronger bond for it!"

Bilbo fell silent again, thinking about that. Did he and the dwarves _really_ have a stronger bond due to his fever? They had certainly jumped to his aid when he had been ill, and he was really thankful... But were they closer?

They might grumble about their hobbit... about his short legs and his slow pace and his inability to carry their packs... but they had certainly tried, very stubbornly, to get the hobbit back to full health.

Why?

Because they cared for him or because they wanted to get on with their journey? Or both?

Whatever the reason, Bilbo thought, as he stumbled over his own feet, he was going to do his best to help the dwarves in whatever way he could.

* * *

**There will be a short drabble of a (humourous) epilogue after this, but Bilbo's sickness is over with, for the most part. :)**

**Thank you!**


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue:  
A Single Sneeze Can Cause an Avalanche**

Bilbo actually felt totally pleased with their journey right now.

Of course, that was a lot easier to do when you had proper shelter, good meals, and a powerful companion that seemed willing to help.

But... his heart grew heavy at every mention of the Forest of Mirkwood, and he knew that they couldn't stay with Beorn forever. Having a healthy meal and warm shelter, and songs and stories and a skin-changer, helped to raise their spirits, but it wouldn't help to reclaim Dale. It wouldn't find any treasure and it wouldn't help if they stayed with Beorn forever.

So... while Bilbo was pleased with this stage in their journey, it was high time to begin another one.

And that meant the Forest of Mirkwood.

"These ponies will suffice for your transport. And this horse for Gandalf. But you must promise to send these ponies back before you venture into the Forest. That is the one demand I ask of you."

Bilbo stared longingly at Beorn's home as the dwarves and Gandalf agreed to send the ponies back. How much Bilbo would love to stay here...

... but he had made a promise. If not, in so many words, to the dwarves, but to himself.

As long they had provisions to carry them through the Forest. As long as there was food, Bilbo couldn't be entirely unhappy.

After Beorn had wished them well and they had set on their way, with singing and chatting and a generally good mood.

They were hours into their trek when Bilbo felt his nose itch.

Oh. Oh, no.

Not _again_.

He rubbed his nose roughly, sniffing quietly.

It didn't help.

He tried holding his breath and rubbing his nose and covering both mouth and nose, but to no avail. It was not a minute later when Bilbo couldn't handle the telltale tickle and he _sneezed_.

(Quite loudly, for a little hobbit.)

The dwarves nearest to him immediately snapped their attention to him and even the ponies seemed to start, whinnying unassuredly.

Bilbo rubbed his nose, his face feeling quite warm. "... Excuse me..."

"Don't telly me you're getting sick _again_?" Bombur asked, sounding unsure.

Bilbo felt like all eyes were on him.

"Er- no... I don't think, I mean- allergies, remember?" He gestured to the pony.

There seemed to be a collective sigh amongst the thirteen dwarves. They all looked away again. There was the sound of quiet laughter, however, and Bilbo looked around for the source.

It was Gandalf.

Bilbo looked up at the tall wizard, questioning. "What?"

"For a little being, you have a powerful sneeze. A single sneeze could cause an avalanche, Mr. Baggins," Gandalf chuckled.

Bilbo smiled faintly, looking back ahead.

He liked the sound of that.

A single sneeze could cause an avalanche.

It become Bilbo's favourite thing to say, and quite a proverb after their journey.

* * *

**So, this is obviously more book!verse, so if you haven't read the book, well, Boern is a skin-changer (shapeshifter, essentially) who helps them out, gives them shelter and meals for a bit, as well as ponies and a horse for the Company to get to the Forest of Mirkwood. **

**So, that's all for _Icky Sicky Bilbo Baggins_! I'm glad that it garnered some interest... It was nice to write something for _The Hobbit_! Perhaps I'll write something else... Who knows?**

**Thanks for your support, your favourites and your follows, and of course, your reviews!**


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